


For, not With

by duesternis



Series: Shoot me down and lift me up [6]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Body Worship, Canon Disabled Character, Crime syndicate Au, Fluff, Hugs, M/M, Not Overwatch AU, Old scars, Possessiveness, Premature Ejaculation, Tattoos, aka jesse is a sap, mentions of branding, stay in bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2016-08-09
Packaged: 2018-08-07 18:05:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7724443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duesternis/pseuds/duesternis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A morning spent in Jesse's room, touched by dragons and yellow light.</p><p> </p><p>_____<br/>Part six of a series of Crime-Syndicate-AU ficlets. There will be a continuity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For, not With

**Author's Note:**

> i can't say it often enough: This monster is getting out of hand.
> 
> but the next installment will probably have some real roughtough action.
> 
> enjoy this one, i certainly enjoyed writing it.

Nobody had drawn the curtains last night.  
Now, light was painting pale streaks over the yellow rug in the middle of the room.  
Hanzo blinked at it blearily. Wiped hair out of his eyes.  
There was a single sock by the edge of the rug.  
He yawned, eyes closing again and stretched on the mattress. There was a warm, solid weight at his back and he shimmied closer, mind still clogged with sleep.  
Breath on the back of his neck and a heavy arm over his side. Another one pillowed his head.  
Hanzo dragged a hand over the weight on his ribs. It stopped just below the elbow.  
„Jesse.“  
Another exhale against his neck.  
„Hey.“ The voice was rough and thick with sleep. Hanzo smiled into the pillow and pressed his ankles alongside McCree‘s.  
McCree chuckled and the noise rumbled through Hanzo‘s body, it made him close his eyes and suppress a shiver.  
„Slept well?“  
„Did you?“  
„Like a baby.“ McCree pressed a grin against the back of his neck and Hanzo let his head drop forward a bit. The warm breath on his skin was pleasant.  
The weight on his ribs was pleasant.  
The feeling of another body pressed along his back was pleasant.  
The smell - smoke, sun and leather - clinging to the whole room was pleasant.  
Hanzo trailed lazy patterns over the sheets and McCree‘s fingers wove through his hair, slow and soft like petals.  
A flutter in Hanzo‘s chest reached his throat and made his lips curl upward in a smile, made him sigh loose laughter into the yellow air.  
McCree hummed appreciative and rumbled along.

Outside a bird sang and a dog barked in the distance. The never ceasing flow of traffic was muted by the layer of snow the night had brought.  
McCree‘s chest touched Hanzo‘s back when they breathed. Their legs tangled with every soft shift on the sheets.  
„What time‘s it even, darlin‘?“  
„I don‘t know.“  
McCree stretched against Hanzo‘s back and a yawn brought a gust of hot breath over Hanzo‘s ear.  
He shivered faintly in McCree‘s embrace and his lips parted unseen.  
After another moment of dripping, languid silence Hanzo turned around and looked McCree in the face.  
He looked tired. Old. His skin was wrinkled from the pillow pressing against it and his hair was even more dishevelled than normally.  
Hanzo had to smile.  
He dragged a hand carefully over the side of McCree‘s face, knocking strands of hair back behind his ear. The hair was soft, but tangled badly.  
McCree‘s dark eyes slid shut and he huffed softly.  
Hanzo went on with dragging fingers through the bed head.  
Warm skin was pressed along Hanzo‘s legs and he loved the heavy, dead weight of McCree‘s arm over his waist.  
It was lazy and slow and divine.  
Hanzo couldn‘t remember the last day he had just hidden himself away in his bed, after waking up.  
There was never time for it.  
Not that there was now.  
Hanzo gently pulled knots out of McCree‘s hair and watched the closed eyelids flutter with pleasure. They looked fragile, like thin paper in a decorative door, painted with blue veins and a dark shadow.  
The eyelashes resting against McCree‘s cheek were long and thick. At the corners of his eyes they were clotted with sleep.  
Hanzo gently wiped it away and the lids opened.  
„Woah, there!“  
„What?“  
McCree chuckled and shifted against the pillow. „Ya spooked me, is all.“  
Hanzo lifted a corner of his mouth in a half-smile and picked combing McCree‘s hair with his hands up again.  
„For a professional you get spooked easily.“  
„Yeah, I know. Bu‘ I‘m relaxed right now. Not at my best.“ His voice dropped on the last part and Hanzo felt something hot rise in his throat.  
He pressed a kiss to McCree‘s temple, just because the sleep-warm skin felt good against his lips.  
Just because it glossed the hurt in McCree‘s eyes with something softer.  
Something Hanzo hadn‘t seen for a very long time.  
Something he had no name for. (Not devotion. That was too close to worship.)  
He blinked slowly, chest tight and at the same time weightless with a stuttering breath, caught in McCree‘s beard.  
The whole, right hand of his wrapped around Hanzo‘s shoulder and pulled him in. The left arm gently pressed into his waist and the ankles wrapped around his legs.  
„What are you doing?“ Amusement warm on his tongue.

McCree smiled at him, eyes liquid with appreciation. Hanzo had no other word for it.  
„‘M huggin‘ you, darlin‘.“ The rough tumble of his voice was muffled in Hanzo‘s hair and he found he liked the way sun and smoke were all around him.  
He let his eyes slip shut and allowed himself the luxury of relaxing his body completely for as long as McCree held him.  
„Why are you hugging me?“ Hanzo spoke against McCree‘s chest, cheek pressed to it. The thin t-shirt was the only obstruction between this and that.  
„Feels good, don‘t it? An‘ I read somewhere that a human needs ten hugs or somethin‘ to be emotionally balanced. Per day.“  
Hanzo chuckled and put his right arm around McCree‘s waist. His t-shirt had ridden up over his stomach during the night. Sleep-warm skin was soft against sleep-warm skin.  
The left hand gently skimmed McCree‘s shoulder and settled against the brown neck. Broad and warm.  
Hanzo felt his heart flutter in his stomach and swallowed against McCree‘s chest. He heard the slow, even beat of McCree‘s heart and felt every swell of breath in the man‘s lungs.  
„I‘ve never gotten ten hugs per day.“  
Silence fell. They breathed.  
„Me neither.“  
McCree put his cheek against the top of Hanzo‘s head and Hanzo‘s finger curled into the hairs at the nape of McCree‘s neck.  
Very far away they heard police sirens wail. The ever-present song of New York City.  
Softly, almost shy, a tone build in McCree‘s broad chest.  
Hanzo pressed his ear to it, to hear every little change of pitch.  
The vibration was pleasant against his skin. He inhaled deeply and McCree increased the volume of his humming.  
And like a flower opened in spring, petals unfurling one after the other under the sun‘s careful gaze, did McCree start singing under the unceasing strokes of Hanzo‘s fingers.  
Hanzo‘s hands moved nimbly over the knobs of his spine and dexterously through his knotted hair.  
McCree sang slow and quiet. It was something Spanish, an easy melody and Hanzo smiled with the vibrations still rolling into him through every point of contact between them.  
There were a lot.

 

Jesse sat on the floor, back against the bed and Shimada was sitting on the bed behind him.  
With nimble hands he brushed through Jesse‘s hair. The brush wasn‘t as forgiving.  
„Ouch.“  
„Stop whining.“  
Another sharp jolt of pain tore at Jesse‘s scalp and he grimaced through it.  
„Ya could be a tad more gentle, sweetheart. Jus‘ a bit.“  
Shimada scoffed, but Jesse felt his stomach shake with laughter against the back of his head.  
„Wouldn‘t hurt ya, ya know. An‘ wouldn‘t hurt me neither.“ Jesse tilted his head back a bit and was met with the full force of Shimada‘s sunny grin.  
He sighed, deflating against the bed and dropped his head forward again. That face should be illegal. What, with all the dangerous things it did to Jesse‘s body.  
„Just keep still and I will be done in no time.“ Another swipe of the brush and Jesse hissed. „If you would brush your hair every morning and every evening, I would not have to be so hard on you now.“  
There was a tinge of something in Shimada‘s voice that Jesse didn‘t like. Something akin to smug satisfaction.  
Now it was his turn to scoff. „Ain‘t nobody got time for that, darlin‘.“  
„You should make time for that at least, if you cannot be convinced to shave.“  
Jesse ran his hand through his overgrown beard and sighed. „Yeah, yeah.“  
Shimada tugged another handful of knots out of his hair and soothed the sting with a warm palm. Jesse hummed warmly and tilted his head back again. A low chuckle and Shimada went through his hair again, always following the swipe of the brush with his hand now.  
„Did ya ever have short hair?“  
„As a boy, yes. At age six I started to grow it out.“ The brush stilled for a moment and Jesse was half sure Shimada was touching his own hair.  
„Did you ever have a hairstyle, Jesse?“ The brush again. The voice warm with laughter.  
Jesse laughed and slapped Shimada‘s thigh. Which was then used to press his head into the other thigh. They were both rather hard.  
„Hanzo...“ Jesse dragged a hand up over Shimada‘s calf, down again and curled his fingers around an ankle.  
It was slender, like a woman‘s. Jesse dug a thumb into the soft skin and found hard muscles coiling under his fingers.  
The thighs around his head were warm and the pants smelled nice. Freshly laundered. A hint of soap underneath made Jesse‘s stomach knot hotly. Something sharp and masculine.  
He inhaled deeply, exhaled with a rush to inhale again and Shimada‘s legs opened suddenly. A breath of laughter hung in the room.  
Jesse very slowly looked up at Shimada and grinned. Wolfishly.  
„Are ya ticklish?“

„Stay down.“ Shimada pointed the brush at Jesse, brandished it like a weapon and at the same time pulled his legs underneath his body. He was grinning, too.  
Jesse kneeled and then turned around. Rested his arms on the bed and his chin on top.  
„Ain‘t a dog, darlin‘. Can‘t just tell me ta stay down.“  
He pulled himself on the bed and Hanzo made a smooth step backwards, keeping the bed between them.  
„Stay away from me, Jesse McCree.“  
„I‘ll take that as a ‘Yes, I‘m awfully ticklish, please never tickle me, I‘ll do anything to make you stop‘ okay?“ He still grinned and Shimada crossed his arms over his thick chest. The muscles in his arms bulged.  
„I do not talk like that and my voice sounds nothing like that.“  
Jesse stared open-mouthed at the curling ink on Shimada‘s left arm. From pectoral to wrist his skin was covered in swirls of blues and gold. And he only fully realized it now.  
Before, glimpses of colour and twisting shapes.  
But now?  
A full-blown view of a complete sleeve.  
There was a pattern, a shape to it, but Jesse couldn‘t quite understand it. Not when Shimada crossed his arms like that.  
So he swiftly moved across the bed and reached for Shimada. Who sidestepped him and circled the bed, eyes weary and feet quick on rug and wooden floor alike.  
Amusement hung between them.  
Jesse clicked his tongue and came to his feet on the floor.  
„Stop for a sec, darlin‘. Jus‘ wanna look.“  
„Ha!“ It was a beautiful sound, strong, arrogant and filled with pride to the boot. Jesse licked his lips, eyes glued to the pattern on Hanzo‘s arm.  
„First you reach for me and then you say you just want to look at me.“ Shimada spread his arms and forced Jesse to look at his eyes. „Then look.“  
Jesse made half a step forward and Shimada snapped his fingers.  
„You look with your eyes, not your hands.“  
Jesse laughed.  
It felt delightfully inane, the way they were behaving like kids, both still dressed in their sleep wear. Shimada‘s hair was loosely braided again.  
„What does the ink mean?“ Jesse pointed at it with his thumb and Shimada followed the visual cue, looking at his own arm.

Time to shine.

With a leap Jesse threw himself against Shimada and tore them both to the floor.  
Holding a writhing snake down with one arm and two legs was hard, but not impossible.  
If the snake wasn‘t a Shimada.  
Jesse got a bellyful of elbow and a chinful of head and let go with a bellowing laugh. Shimada kicked his knee for good measure and pulled himself up on the bed. He smoothed his hair to save the rest of his dignity. Re-did the braid with swift movements.  
Jesse lay down on the yellow rug and stared up at him.  
„Were you talking about my tattoo before you attacked me so honourlessly?“  
Jesse chuckled and nodded. „Yup. What‘s it?“  
Shimada looked at it, twisted his arm to follow the pattern with his eyes and clenched his fist.  
„A dragon.“  
„Really?“ Jesse sat up and scooted over to the bed. Shimada extended his arm for him to look at.  
Gently Jesse took the wrist in hand.  
It was warm and soft under his touch, but the unyielding strength below kept him on his toes.  
He shifted still closer. His breath came in shallow bursts.

Directly at the wrist the dragon bared its teeth, snarling, eyes rolling. The long body snaked itself to the inside of Shimada‘s forearm and around it. Scales just below the elbow and then to the inside again, over the tender skin in the crook of the arm: a claw.  
The dragon twisted around the curve of Shimada‘s biceps and slipped below his shoulderblade, over the shoulder. The tip of the tail, a tuft of hair, skimmed just shy of his left nipple.  
It was set against a backdrop of blue-grey clouds, the dragon itself lighter shades of blues and greys, all interspersed by golden bands of lightning.  
The shading on the scales was exquisite, the long whiskers seemed to be moving in an imminent breeze, the tail ready to whisk through the clouds and chase lightning.  
Jesse exhaled shakily and a shiver rippled the skin in front of his face.  
He moved back a bit. Only then realized that his nose had been nearly pressed against Shimada‘s pectorals.  
He was kneeling between splayed thighs, left arm in the bend of Shimada‘s hip for balance. His right hand cupped the muscular forearm, fingers idly tracing patterns on the warm skin.  
Jesse was half-hard in his shorts.

„Wow.“ His voice was hoarse.  
Shimada looked at the crocus-painting on the wall over the bed. His cheeks were flushed. His cotton pants were tented softly. A tremor ran through his right leg.  
Jesse let go of his wrist and followed the dragon from wrist to chest with the tip of his finger. Still mesmerized.  
„Stop.“ It sounded as hoarse as Jesse‘s exclamation. Shimada squirmed under the scrutiny.  
Jesse leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms. Cleared his throat. „Pardon me.“ He gathered his breath. „It looks real good. How long did it take?“  
Shimada moved his thighs closer together, until they caged Jesse. He placed his hands on his knees, dragon shifting over his muscles. „More than a week.“  
A whistle. „That‘s unreasonably long, darlin‘. Even fer somethin‘ so big, right? Not that I‘m an expert...“  
„It was made in traditional fashion.“ Shimada looked at him with cool eyes.  
„Meanin‘?“  
„A single needle.“  
Another whistle and Jesse ran his hand through his hair. Crazy Japanese people, really. „Ain‘t that a tad cruel, sweetheart?“  
A one-shouldered shrug and a lazy curl of the plush lips. Shimada looked good in his tank-top with his hair mussed and his cheeks still faintly red. And his pants tented.  
„It is common procedure in my line of business.“  
„Huh.“ Jesse sat down cross-legged. Uncomfortable.  
He stood up and sat down next to Shimada on the bed. Touched the dragon‘s head carefully. Their thighs touched. Jesse was hyperaware of it. „What‘s he mean?“  
„He is here to remind me of what is important.“  
„Bein‘?“  
„Wisdom and strength are not exclusive. To work for the people, not with the people. To rise above.“  
Jesse traced a brilliant gold lightingbolt. „An‘ these?“  
„To strike my foes down without mercy.“ They shared a breath and locked eyes.  
„The clouds?“  
Shimada laughed and looked at his own arm again. Shrugged, this time with both shoulders. „Nothing really. I needed something to fill the gaps.“  
Their arms touched. Jesse was caught by the hollow of Shimada‘s throat. He wanted to let his fingers fall there and follow the dip between the clavicles and the pectorals.  
Down, down, down.  
Over pale skin and strong muscle. There had to be scars.  
Nobody led a life of organized crime without collecting scars.  
There had to be scars.  
Jesse licked his lips and shifted on the bed, until he was facing Shimada halfway.  
His right hand slipped into the small of Shimada‘s back, under the cotton of his tank-top.  
He felt the hitch of breath more than he heard it.

 

Hanzo skipped a breath as the warm hand, callouses rough, cupped his back.  
He looked up from the stretch of McCree‘s t-shirt over his broad chest and was met with the sight of blown pupils and slick lips.  
Wide and pink and with just a hint of teeth behind them.  
Hanzo swallowed and gingerly touched the scruffy beard on McCree‘s jaw. The lips opened wider and his hand dropped to the strong shoulders. Skimmed the neck he adored so much and down over the knobs of his spine.  
The thin t-shirt between his cold fingers and McCree‘s hot skin.  
A sharp inhale when they did touch, at the waist, where the shirt was just unable to cover McCree sufficiently.  
The waistband of the shorts was traced once around the left side, to the front.  
Hanzo lightly scratched the trail of dark hair with short nails and revelled in the way McCree‘s eyes darkened further.  
They were glued to his face. The lips were open now and McCree panted.  
Hanzo moved his hand upwards under the t-shirt.  
Followed the hair past the belly button. Splayed his hand shortly over the wide pane of McCree‘s toned stomach and rested their foreheads against each other.  
Inhaled when McCree exhaled.  
The fingers travelled further. Angled towards the left side. Hanzo felt a hardened nipple under his palm and was amazed by the amount of hair covering McCree‘s chest.  
It looked like a lot, yes. But feeling it was something completely different.  
Hanzo moved closer towards McCree and slipped his hand under the arm, around the side of the chest and towards the broad shoulders.  
McCree panted into his mouth. He was shaking and his eyes looked completely black.  
Hanzo licked his lips and McCree zeroed in on the movement.  
A broken sound came from his throat and Hanzo dragged a soothing hand over his back.  
There were some scars he could feel on the back and shoulders.  
Up front he hadn‘t noticed any. Which didn‘t mean there were none.  
Lifes like theirs left their marks on people.

„Show me your brand.“  
It came out before he could think it through and Hanzo wanted to bite his tongue off. It probably showed on his face.  
McCree was wrecked by a shiver and nodded frantically. He grabbed Hanzo‘s free hand, dragged a finger over the dragon‘s head and put it on his own right hip.  
„Like cattle.“ He sounded almost nothing like his usual self.  
Hanzo felt his heart stutter and carefully dipped his fingers below the waistband of McCree‘s shorts.  
A groan hung in the room and maybe it had come from both of them.  
With careful fingers he traced the skin over McCree‘s hip and buttocks, towards the back.  
And yes.  
Hanzo splayed his fingers over the shallow scars. They felt slick and smooth, the skin around it raised.  
McCree dropped his forehead to Hanzo‘s shoulder and the hand still under his t-shirt moved further up, cupping his neck in a warm grip.

„Hanzo.“  
He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to McCree‘s neck. Whispered against it.  
„You‘re mine. This means nothing.“  
McCree‘s right hand shot forward and grabbed Hanzo painfully tight at the left shoulder. A shudder coursed through the bent body before him.  
Something like a sob was spilled against Hanzo‘s shoulder and the hand clinging to his shoulder slid down his arm.  
Hanzo pulled his fingers from the shorts and laced them with McCree‘s shaking ones.  
„Fuck.“ Still hoarse, powerless. Spent.  
Hanzo slipped his other hand out of McCree‘s t-shirt and made him lift his head.  
They looked at each other, foreheads connected again.  
„We‘ll have ta get‘em out with root an‘ all.“  
„I will wipe them from the face of the earth.“ Hanzo cupped McCree‘s jaw and squeezed his fingers.

 

Jesse shivered under the power in Shimada‘s voice and groaned softly.  
His shorts were sticky and uncomfortable.  
He felt raw again, but not unprotected. A hermit crab had to come out of its shell, too, to get into a better one.  
He licked his lips and shifted closer to Shimada.  
Their chests touched. They shared breath. Their thighs were pressed together.  
Shimada looked at him, a proud smile skirting his lips, pulling them up into a soft bow. His nose curved elegantly toward it. His eyes shone bright.

Jesse wanted to get lost in them and never resurface again.  
He wanted to get devoured by those lips.  
Wanted to get torn apart by those hands that had touched him so carefully, with so much feeling.  
He was reminded of kneeling in church, hearing the priest talk in Spanish, his little hands folded in prayer.  
He was scared to death by the feeling.

„It won‘t be easy, darlin‘.“  
Shimada laughed warmly into his face. „Nothing has ever been easy with my family. We will manage.“  
Pure confidence.  
Jesse gave himself up to it. He was tired of fighting alone and faking it.  
He had a dragon at his side now.  
Who had promised to lift him up.  
Jesse could at least watch the dragon‘s back with a quick draw and a smart mouth.  
„Guess we will, darlin‘.“

Jesse leaned in and kissed Hanzo on the corner of his mouth.


End file.
